


They Both Knew the Answer

by Dainslaif



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 1960s London, AU, Captain Pan, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26593825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dainslaif/pseuds/Dainslaif
Summary: It's a small pub in 1960s London's East End. It was supposed to be a lad's night, only Killian finds himself out alone and enthralled. The loneliness does not last long.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Peter Pan | Malcolm
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	They Both Knew the Answer

The sound of merriment crackled through the pub, animated and alive in such a way it was almost easy to ignore it was equally a den of sin. The girls looked clean and were good at blending—a slip of skin there or a suggestive touch there. Unless you were looking (or looking) it was easy enough to ignore and focus on drink and fun. Make no mistake, it was no public house to bring a date. Most of the patrons were dockers or sailors, with pretty women to ogle and flowing taps.

One such patron was Killian Jones, a sailor on two weeks’ shore leave meant to be out for a night of fun with the lads—only they’d all found dates. And so here Killian was, nursing a warm beer, alone. He had been approached by several girls, but none had caught his fancy. As he liked to remind his mates, he had a girl back home in north Wales—sort of. One day he’d ask her to marry him, put a baby in her, and all would be right with the world. It was the 60s now though and she wanted her own career and independence. Whenever she was ready, so was he.

Killian’s eyes wandered the pub and made note of the patrons. He came to rest on one oddity who stood out amongst the others; a young man, probably barely old enough to hold a job. He looked clean; hair tussled with a devil-may-care attitude. Killian found himself enraptured by this boy, the way he flitted about the room like a hummingbird—or a fairy—and left nothing behind but smiles and laughs. He hadn’t a drink in the meanwhile, Killian noted. Just walked about the room, involved in some chit-chat here or there. He had seen the boy go into the back with a dock worker when he’d first arrived. 

Curious.

He tore himself away from the boy for a moment to drink what was left of his beer and debated whether to order more return to the seamen’s lodge. Obviously, none of his mates would choose a house of ill-repute over dates with pretty ladies less likely to give them lover’s pox. Whilst his internal debate raged, he felt a presence beside him. He looked and nearly fell from his seat.

It was the boy he had been fascinated by; up closer he could see that the boy was indeed young and smelt pleasantly of vanilla and tobacco. He was the pale sort, with golden hair that curled youthfully and a dangerous smile. Killian felt an allure in those mist green eyes and his chest felt tight.

“Staring might be free, sailor, but I’m starting to think I should be charging for that too.”

His words dripped from his lips like honey, breathy and playful with a beautiful Scottish croon. Killian could feel the knot move to his stomach as he could the warm breath that rolled against his ear. He couldn’t tear himself away from this boy.

“’Scuse me?” he sputtered out.

“You were staring at me pretty intense, sailor. Need a room for the night?”

It was then Killian started to piece together why this boy seemed so out of place. He wasn’t a patron; he was a worker.

Killian looked about the bar quickly. No one seemed to notice or care. Not even the bartender seemed to care.

“It’s a guinea. Three bob and I’ll take you to the lav if that’s more your speed,” the boy continued, obviously ready to move on if need be. All he could do was stare blankly, wordlessly. “Well, if you stop gawking like a fish long enough to talk, I’ll be over there,” he rolled his eyes and started to move on to another mark who caught his eye.

“Wait,” Killian moved to grab the boy who looked back with that same smirk. “I can pay that.” He couldn’t even fathom what his plan was, but he knew this spelt trouble. The best Killian could figure was he just felt bad. That was all. And had nothing to do with the way the piercing green eyes made him feel things.

Nothing at all.

The boy watched as Killian moved to reach into his pocket and slapped his arm. “Not here, eedjit. C’mon,” he grabbed the sailor’s wrist and started to drag them both up the stairs in the far corner of the pub; again, no one seemed to notice. If they did, none bothered to point it out.

The walk up felt like a blur. Men packed into the landing and down the hall with half as many women; they laughed and flirted while men whispered something into their ears. Negotiations? Killian couldn’t say he knew for sure. He barely could register what he had agreed to, much less discern what went on around him as the boy dragged him down a hall and into a room.

Compared to the rest of the pub, the room was well lived in, and when the door shut behind them it felt like it blocked the whole world out. The windows were drawn, and the only lights came from lit candles in glass on the bedside table, dresser, and a dinner table. There were some clothes and blankets on the floor, but nothing to write home about and the room smelt of the same vanilla-tobacco as the boy. The boy sat on the bed and began to pull off his clothes.

“It’s a sixpence extra to go without a sheath,” he said as though he had said it a thousand times before. “They’re on the dresser there,” he pointed towards the wall opposite the bed, a long assortment of condoms spread out on the dresser top and a plain china bowl. The floor mirror beside the dresser seemed to make the room a bit brighter at least.

Killian suddenly felt woozy. “I think there’s some sort of mistake?” There wasn’t and he knew it. From the look of the boy’s face in the candlelight, he knew there wasn’t either. 

The boy let out a wry chuckle. “I don’t think so, love. You’re paying for sex with me, a man. No shame in it, legal or not. I’m discreet. Now, put the guinea on the nightstand and grab a damn sheath, would ya?”

“R-right,” the sailor dug into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin. He placed it on the table and took another breath. From his periphery, he could tell the boy was naked and stretched out on the bed, almost like a cat. He felt awkward and dug into his pocket to pull out a few pence and tossed them onto the nightstand as well—the boy watched his every move with that languid smirk and a raised brow. What did he think?

“Thought you’d be too stiff to go sheathless. They prevent disease, they say,” the boy said as he turned onto his back. “I’m ready to go, but I might need a few to adjust so be gentle, yeah?”

Killian could feel his body in knots. He began to undress, mind garbled and only concerned with one thing. Before he even got fully naked, he knew he was rigid with want—more than he had ever felt before. It made him feel dirty, but it didn’t make him stop as he crawled on top of the boy.

He felt legs wrap around his waist and arms around his neck. “You’re allowed to kiss if you need to get it up, but it doesn’t feel like you need the help,” the boy whispered with a soft laugh. “Come down here.”

All Killian could do was do as he was told; he pressed down against the boy and propped himself up by his elbows to keep from crushing him. With skin against skin he could feel how… delicate the boy was. Waifish. He exhaled slowly and pressed his want against the boy’s pucker. He could still back out, run away, and just consider it lost money. He knew he wouldn’t. The boy arched his back to help, whatever ability to back out vanished in an instant as he pushed the head in.

He heeded the boy’s request and went as slow as he could. Occasionally he could feel his hips jerk forward in a need to claim the boy wholly, but he had enough control. He threw most of it away with this, but he needed to have at least some. He wouldn’t allow himself to fall completely into hedonism. Below him the boy would wiggle and squirm, his fingers would dig into Killian’s skin and he would give soft, strangled moans.

It started slow, and even the thrusts stayed slow until Killian was certain he wouldn’t hurt the poor thing beneath him. After he was satisfied, he grabbed the boy’s hip and urged him to move to meet his thrusts. He could hear the boy repeatedly curse between the moans and something inside Killian egged him to go faster.

The boy reached down, grabbed at his own thick desire, and started to beat it without shame. The image sent Killian over the edge and his seed spilt inside the boy, his own heat enveloped his spent hardness. He shook off the aftereffect of his orgasm and removed his hand from the boy’s hip to reach for the boy’s cock.

“I can deal with it myself,” he heard the boy pant, but Killian ignored him. It only lasted a few stubborn strokes before the boy quaked and his seed spilt between them. 

They each went quiet, the only sounds from the hall and pub outside and occasionally one of their breaths. It was likely only seconds that Killian stayed on top of the boy, but he felt it was an eternity before the boy spoke again. “There’s a bowl on the dresser to clean yourself up in. Water’s probably ice cold, but it’s something.”

“Right,” Kilian snapped from his stupor and pulled himself away from the boy. It felt odd to walk, but he found his footing and walked to the dresser. There was a clean rag set out and, as the boy foretold, the water was chilly. Still, Killian used it to clean himself up. He tried to ignore the reflection of the boy in the mirror, but he caught himself with a lingered gaze on the boy more than once, who simply laid on the bed, transfixed on the ceiling.

He suddenly felt parched. Guilt washed over him and he realized what he’d just done. He cursed and threw the rag down. This seemed to alert the boy, who bolted upright in an instant. Killian could see in the reflection he looked ready to leg it. “It isn’t you,” he quickly assured and turned around. Last thing he wanted was to spook the boy or take anger out on him. This was Killian’s choice—he wasn’t under any assumptions to misappropriated blame.

“Sometimes the sailor folk can get nasty,” the boy said curtly as he reached for his clothes on the floor, picked out amongst Killian’s and the others that laid about. “Go all god-fearing or threaten to turn me into the coppers as if they hadn’t just done the deed themselves. Can’t stand being queer on a ship full of other men for months.”

“I’m not queer,” Killian objected. “I just—”

The boy rolled his eyes and reclined onto his bed. “Sure, whatever. Nothing wrong with it.”

Killian knew an argument would do him no good, so he went to grab his clothes. “You always charge a guinea for…” he pointed between them.

“I take a bigger risk than girls. Being a prostitute is one thing, being one who services other men? It’s like abortions. Got to make it worth my while since I’ll be the one going ’fore a judge. Most johns just plead out for information.” The way he said it made Killian’s heart sink. “Sides, finding a partner that won’t blow a whistle on you in a bathroom is a luxury. They get that with me. Tack on all the other reasons men go to prostitutes when they could easily get a girl of their own—power, gross kinks the missus won’t do—”

“I get it,” Killian interrupted. “Are you always here?”

“Every night. Thinking of changing careers, sailor? I’ll tell you now the hours are bad.” The boy rolled onto his side before he grabbed Killian and urged him down onto the bed. “’Sides, you’re one of them fancy sailors, yeah? Family line, I can tell. Probably have an uncle or cousin who’s been knighted.” 

Once again, Killian found himself bent to this boy’s will. And left in awe by his astute observation. “Father. My Father was knighted,” he cleared his throat, he said too much.

“I don’t normally make conversation with sons of knighted men. Most of them are Johns, Roberts, and Jameses with a kid or two at home and a bad back from working at the docks. Or a seaman on shore leave and looking for one good release. Suppose you could still be the latter.” The boy’s fingers started to dance along Killian’s neck and tickle his jawline. “You would look good with a beard.”

Killian swallowed thickly. “Never grew one. I thought I was supposed to just—”

“You can leave if you want. I did offer a room for the night since I figured you’d take longer.” He began to kiss the sailor’s neck. “We could always go again if you’re feeling up for it. Won’t even make you pay ‘nother guinea. You’re the first gent to actually take it slow when I said be slow. Figure that’s worth a free round in the sack.”

“I don’t think I could. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know how old you are, I don’t know your name,” he closed his eyes and felt his head drift as the boy continued his kisses and things went fuzzy in his brain.

“I’m 18, for truth. And we don’t typically share names, but for you, I will say my name is Peter.”

Killian felt himself slip out a laugh. “Like Peter Pan.”

“Mhm, like Peter Pan. Mam loved the damn book. Hoped it would help me keep my boyish charms.”

“Aye, she must have known.” He chose not to mention he, too, liked the story of Peter Pan. Sounded a bit too clingy with a boy he’d paid to lay with. He swallowed hard again. If anyone found out trouble would have been the barest minimum. 

“Your name, sailor? I suspect not John, Robert, or James.”

“Killian. Not at all a John or Robert.”

“Killian,” the boy, Peter, repeated. The way he said it made it sound sinful and it sent a shiver down Killian’s back. “I rather like the sound of that. So Killian, are you spending the night?”

He didn’t have to say anything. They both knew the answer.

_Yes._


End file.
